


Untitled Hatesex

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the first PoT fic I ever wrote. I find it mildly embarrassing.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untitled Hatesex

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first PoT fic I ever wrote. I find it mildly embarrassing.

Momoshiro has been watching him practice from the doorway of the locker room for the past eighteen minutes, a fact Kaidoh has been keenly aware of for approximately seventeen. Kaidoh beats the tennis ball against the wall viciously, his indignation growing with every passing second. He could explain, if pressed, why Momoshiro’s presence annoys him, why the mere knowledge that he’s being evaluated by those smug eyes makes his blood boil. He is having a harder time, however, trying to justify why those same eyes are making him blush.

At last chalking it up to the heat, Kaidoh makes the decision to cut his practice session short and catches the last tennis ball he returned in one hand, tossing it into the air once as he turns on his heel and favors Momoshiro with a glare. If Momoshiro had until this point thought his presence a secret, he gives no indication of surprise. Merely smiles that damn superior smile of his and looks Kaidoh over.

“What? Exhausted already?”

Kaidoh hisses out an angry breath but for once refuses to rise to the bait. He walks forward at an easy pace until he is face to face with Momoshiro, then shoulders his way through the door, pushing Momoshiro aside forcefully.

A few students pass by on their way home from practice, and Momoshiro watches them go before entering the locker room after Kaidoh and closing the door behind them. He seems to hesitate, to weigh his words a bit longer than usual before saying, “I don’t blame you. Looks like you caught some sunburn.”

Momoshiro gestures at his cheeks, and Kaidoh, feeling his face grow hotter, turns around to open his locker.

“Maybe I was just tired of your staring,” he growls. He takes the towel off his shoulders, tosses it inside the locker, and suddenly turns to find Momoshiro has approached from behind and is doing his best to tower above him.

Kaidoh’s eyes widen in mild surprise, but Momoshiro’s are narrowed, and they remain that way as he reaches out and grabs the knot of Kaidoh’s bandana, using the hold to tilt Kaidoh’s head back just slightly.

“I hate this thing,” Momoshiro says fiercely, and before Kaidoh can retort, he tugs it off.

Kaidoh grabs a fistful of Momoshiro’s shirt and pulls him in even closer, eyes burning with rage. “You –“ he begins, just before Momoshiro kisses him.

It’s not a kiss like any affectionate couple would share. Kaidoh falls back and hits the lockers, or maybe Momoshiro pushes him, but either way he is pressed hard against the buckling metal, and they are grappling for control, Kaidoh’s hands traveling down from Momoshiro’s shirt to his shoulders, which he clutches viciously and earnestly, at once attempting to push him away and hold him there. Momoshiro grips one of Kaidoh’s forearms, and with his other hand he continues to hold Kaidoh’s head back, every now and then reminding him where to go with a sharp tug to his hair. Their joined lips are bruising, forceful, and their breath comes in shallow, harsh gasps. When at last Kaidoh seems to come to his senses and break away, they can only stare at each other in disbelief, completely unnoticing as more students pass by outside the window.

Kaidoh unknowingly brings a hand to his lips just as Momoshiro stammers, “I really do hate that damn bandana.”

“Shut up,” Kaidoh says, and this time it’s Momoshiro’s turn to be taken by surprise.

Kaidoh throws him against the lockers so violently it almost knocks the wind out of him, but that really doesn’t matter, because having his shirt torn off faster than he can swallow likely would’ve left him breathless, anyway. Kaidoh’s hands skirt down Momoshiro’s chest and stomach before stopping just above the waistline of his pants, where they hesitate as Kaidoh drops to his knees.

“Kaidoh,” Momoshiro begins, and Kaidoh quickly repeats, “Shut _up_.”

For once, Momoshiro listens.

Momoshiro doesn’t know when exactly his pants dropped to his ankles. He doesn’t even know when exactly he first started getting hard, but now that his cock is engulfed entirely in Kaidoh’s mouth, he knows he has never been half so hard in his entire life. He groans and lets himself thrust forward, which seems to make Kaidoh angry, and he uses both hands to pin Momoshiro’s hips back firmly against the lockers. When Momoshiro dares open his eyes, he can see that Kaidoh’s are closed – he still looks as infuriated as ever – and, maddeningly, arousingly, Kaidoh has dropped a hand to reach under his own waistline and jerk himself off.

It doesn’t take long for either of them. There is a great deal more writhing and sucking and heated cursing – Momoshiro can only curse, because that mouth, that mouth that generally does nothing but drive him insane with hissing and snide comments and sneering, is so very, very useful for this particular purpose – and Momoshiro finally comes, without giving a warning and entirely unapologetic, in Kaidoh’s mouth.

Momoshiro manages to open his eyes again just wide enough to watch Kaidoh’s throat muscles tighten as he swallows once, twice, and then pulls back, mouth slightly open, a trail of come and spit still connecting the cock to his tongue. Momoshiro inhales sharply at the sight, and in the next instant he can see Kaidoh coming as well, see the way his shoulders tense and his lips curl back and he finally, exhaustedly drops his hand away from Momoshiro’s hip.

Momoshiro just has time to gather his pants back up and Kaidoh to stand when the door opens, and Eiji and Oishi enter to see Kaidoh, flushed and sweating, towel off his mouth, while Momoshiro turns around and casually puts his shirt back on.

“You two look exhausted!” Eiji observes, moving toward his own locker. “Were you practicing together?”

Neither Momoshiro nor Kaidoh dare attempt eye contact.

“Nn,” Kaidoh manages in response. He lowers the towel away from his face, still flushed and red, and slings it over his shoulder as he walks away.

“Oi! Where are you going?” Eiji asks.

“Shower,” Kaidoh grunts.

“Don’t forget this,” Momoshiro says. Kaidoh glances over his shoulder and his bandana hits him in the face.

“Nn,” he grunts again.

“Looking forward to our next practice,” Momoshiro says with a grin, and Kaidoh promptly disappears from sight.

_end_  



End file.
